


That green light (I want it)

by viajeramyra



Series: The Jealous Andrés [2]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, We die like Berlín without an editor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27051691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajeramyra/pseuds/viajeramyra
Summary: The chip to his friend’s voice captured Andrés’ attention for only a moment. His eyebrows raised, arms crossed over his chest when his eyes ventured to take an in-depth look at Martín for the first time in weeks. His green velvet jacket hugged Martín’s arms tighter, drawing focus to his waist even from the side. Andrés chuckled, wondering just when the other man had the opportunity for a slight of hand to take the item from his closet. “What did you leave hanging in its place that I didn’t notice?”“You have been too preoccupied lately.” The car door closed quietly behind him, leaving them standing only a few feet apart. Standing now, the jacket appeared tailored for Martín. They’d never fixated on maintaining a workout regime, but the tight material left the impression of strong muscles under the layers. For as many faint touches he’d stolen through the years, Andrés’ memory failed him now. The cool air of early autumn aided in drying his throat, lack of proper sleep the other culprit.—Another canon divergent one-shot for my new Jealous Andrés collection.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Series: The Jealous Andrés [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924594
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70





	That green light (I want it)

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this took me six weeks to complete and I can 100% say I challenged myself to break the writer’s block. I will probably never write smut again (damn, was it difficult). But I like to think I did a decent job for my first time. 
> 
> It is smut, but only after the kiss in the hallway. So, if smut isn’t your thing I tried very hard to write the kisses in a way people could enjoy those if they wanted. :) 
> 
> Thanks for all the love and support, and patience with me working on ELT. I promise I’m working on that one for NaNoWriMo.

They were lucky their loud giggles failed to stir Sergio. His brother’s room was only a few doors down from where they gathered in Nairobi’s, in the worst attempt to sneak out he’d ever bore witness to. Even muffled, Denver’s obnoxious cackle made Andrés groan, cringing at his own inability to sleep through the noise. Their tasteless jokes at his expense further pushed him away from sleep, poised to leave his room at a moment’s notice. If they wished to mock him, he should be welcome to correct their misconceptions. Joining them would at least give him the satisfaction of the nervous sweat building on Denver’s brow, something resembling shame on Nairobi’s face, Tokio’s silence, and Rio most likely passing out on the floor. The display might have been worth it, in another life. Now, he only twisted in his creaky bed, half-muzzling the sounds of their departure with his pillow. 

It wasn’t enough to happily drift off to sleep, not when Martín’s familiar laugh mixed with a deeper one, only one suspect for the owner. His skin crawled from the recognition, and his stomach twisted tightly as he sat upright in bed. Bringing him along from Firenze cost every ounce of good grace his brother held for either of them; the agreement still loomed over their heads. Sergio promised it would be easy to remove Martín from the plan if they failed to follow his protocols. Honorable as it was, the _no personal relationship_ rule his brother insisted on was already broken more times than Andrés could count. Sergio took no precautions with Denver and Moscú’s familial status; and it didn’t take long for Helsinki to slip the relation between himself and Oslo. No one suspected the ones he kept close to his chest — but being cut off from the two he adored most wore him thin. 

Maintaining the secret he shared with Sergio came as second nature. They had long kept their distance, only meeting when Andrés’ other plans didn’t interfere with hiding his brother’s identity. They circled around each other for years, primed and ready for this exact set of circumstances. But concealing himself from Martín took far more discipline. At first, little side-eyed glances and knowing smirks satisfied his need for connection. They maintained _professional_ distance to ensure no one suspected their deeper relationship. Three months cracked at his resolve to keep his promises, though. Long gone were the days planning the Bank heist left them in close quarters, the distance between them always minimal. In the comfort of their monastery, Andrés’ restless hands found purchase on Martín’s shoulders, or trailed down the lean muscles of his arms. There, the faint scent of Martín’s cherry oak cologne could call out to him, the smooth skin under Andrés’ fingertips his only priority. There weren’t any demanding countdowns or wandering eyes to observe things they shouldn’t. His freedom to tease and watch the unspoken, built-up frustration in Martín’s eyes were surrendered to his brother’s plan. 

And in the absence of their friendship, Martín drew closer to Helsinki every day. 

He twisted onto his other side, listening to the car pulling away from the house in Toledo. He envied Sergio, who managed to sleep through rocks being displaced by tires. Andrés considered a nightcap, hoping it might be able to kill him back to sleep. If they wanted to sneak out in the dead of night, he shouldn’t have to pay the consequences. Tomorrow, they’d review more medical procedures and he would be prepared to maintain the wellbeing of his team. 

The floorboards betrayed him, giving away every step he took to the wardrobe. At the bottom sat a small bottle, a gift Martín gave for his last birthday. They’d shared most of it together, and he grumbled about the inability to share more now. The little monster taking residence in his chest was possessive and demanding, and he couldn’t figure out why. Martín had always had a knack for picking up new friends. Most of the time, if they were good enough to earn Martín’s trust, Andrés gave them the benefit of the doubt. But something he couldn’t quite place about Helsinki seemed different. The two Serbs were his choice, carefully selected among all the options for strongmen Sergio considered. With the exception of Moscú and Nairobi, the two former soldiers were their best pieces in this heist. The seven of them would be far better off without the three rambunctious _children_ , who broke every single rule. Settled back on his bed sipping his limoncello, Andrés wondered just how Martín became entangled in their plight for freedom. 

When sleep still evaded him, unable to adapt to a state of blissful ignorance, he rolled onto his back. He ran his hand down his face, trying to release the tension building behind his eyes. Their actions wouldn’t affect him — most of them had their youth to rely on as a glorious cure for the impending hangover. With one or two hours of sleep, they’d be as bright and lively as they always were; and his dear brother would be none the wiser. But Martín risked everything, and for what? Helsinki was a new form of distraction for his restless friend, but Martín knew better than to cross Sergio. His hangover would be blamed on the both of them, and he’d be left without his right hand. 

The vein on the right side of his forehead twitched, a new, blinding pain forcing him awake again. Gravel rolled under tires, bright lights flashing through his window now. Andrés couldn’t place when he’d slumped over again, frustration and alcohol the perfect cocktail for a short amount of sleep curled on the window seat. He rubbed the knots in his neck before stretching out his arms. One by one, everyone exited the car, visibly giggling but trying their best to keep quiet. 

All except for Martín, whose silhouette remained in the driver’s seat. Grumbling, Andrés slipped on his house slippers. His engineer would not be the discovered guilty culprit, even if he had to drag Martín inside by his ear. 

Three raps on the driver’s window made his friend bolt upright, hand clutching his chest as he caught his breath. Within a few seconds, Martín’s eyes narrowed before he threw open the car door. “ _Hijo de puta_. You know not to wake me when I’m sleeping.” 

The chip to his friend’s voice captured Andrés’ attention for only a moment. His eyebrows raised, arms crossed over his chest when his eyes ventured to take an in-depth look at Martín for the first time in weeks. His green velvet jacket hugged Martín’s arms tighter, drawing focus to his waist even from the side. Andrés chuckled, wondering just when the other man had the opportunity for a slight of hand to take the item from his closet. “What did you leave hanging in its place that I didn’t notice?” 

“You have been too preoccupied lately.” The car door closed quietly behind him, leaving them standing only a few feet apart. Standing now, the jacket appeared tailored for Martín. They’d never fixated on maintaining a workout regime, but the tight material left the impression of strong muscles under the layers. For as many faint touches he’d stolen through the years, Andrés’ memory failed him now. The cool air of early autumn aided in drying his throat, lack of proper sleep the other culprit. 

‘ _Have his eyes always been like looking into little emerald pools?’_ came his next observation, buzzing like a pestering fly. He swatted his appropriately, catching a glimpse of the puzzled look on Martín’s face. 

“We have a heist to plan. I have to establish my authority over everyone else.” 

“They’ll all follow you whether they want to or not. And trust me, Tokio would give her right arm to not have to.” 

“And whose idea was it to escape to the festival? I can only imagine you played a significant role in making sure you weren’t caught.” 

Martín’s laugh stuttered his heart, and when was the last time he’d truly listened to it? When had he started ignoring the way his friend’s features wrinkled, or expanding of his stomach as the noise bubbled up to his throat? Every thing about Martín bewitched his attention, until he took it for granted. 

“Helsinki and I only played chaperone to Sergio’s offspring. We might invest in leashes next.” 

Something dark settled over Andrés then, his smile falling with the mention. He glanced up at the sky, expecting rain clouds to be pattering down on him, responsible for the chill coursing up his spine. Scattered stars mocked him, the stillness of the night accompanied with the view. His nose crunched, fingers pinching his temple. “Only chaperoning? I can smell whatever you’ve been drinking.” 

Martín scoffed, kicking at a patch of dirt with his shoe. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, his hand gripping the back of his neck. The pale moonlight exposed the sheepish look in his once determined blue eyes, and Andrés took another step closer. From the short distance, Andrés reclaimed their bond with a simple touch, tilting Martín’s chin up. His friend’s fond grin betrayed the annoyed scoff, moving them closer to being on track. Andrés knew he shouldn’t indulge himself as any number of the Band could still be wandering their little house. The delinquents’ misinterpretation of the scene outside would cause more problems than it was worth, but Andrés’ focus transfixed on Martín’ plump bottom lip, stained bright red from wine. 

“Sergio should’ve accounted for human attachment.” 

“Attachment to Helsinki?” 

Again, he was met with a frustrated sigh. Martín’s jaw locked, glaring off into the distance. Still, he was an open book for Andrés, the silent response better than any words he might have selected. Two fingers traced his friend’s cheekbone, and Andrés delighted in the little shudder. Meaningless inches resided between them now, so, so close to one another. Every warm breath Martín exhaled twirled past Andrés, carrying the potent smell of sweet dessert wines. As a result, Andrés' self-righteous indignation fled in thinking of how his lips probably still tasted of sweet summer fruits. 

“No, not to Helsinki,” Martín’s words interrupted, and he failed to conceal just how lost he’d become. He blinked to concentrate, only to be met with a look of challenge as Martín cocked his head. “Though I wonder why you’re so concerned about our friendship?” 

“I’m not _concerned—_ ”

“You never seemed to ‘care’ before,” he continued, the arrogant use of air quotes implying the unspoken emotion Martín prodded at. Regardless of what his friend thought, this wasn’t a matter of some petty jealousy. 

“You are welcome to befriend whoever you wish, Martín. I ensure there are far more important things on my mind as there should be on yours.” 

“One little evening away from _la universidad de Sergio_ won’t derail my attention span,” he promised, waving his hand nonchalantly. “Everyone needs a little stress relief.” 

“So a casual dalliance? And you thought the best way to seduce Helsinki was in _my_ jacket?” 

The way Martín raised his eyebrows and the tight curl of his lip hinted at some secret he’d missed. His friend’s amusement might have entertained him on another day, but he’d missed out on too much sleep for it tonight. He shoved his hands into his pockets, intent on walking back into the house. “Why does it matter to you if I was? It’s not the first time I’ve borrowed something from your closet on a night out.” 

_‘Clever bastard,’_ he thought, as the relaxed grin spread across his face. Unknowingly, Martín was pushing all of the right buttons. He couldn’t have that, not with the vein still pulsing against his forehead. In return, his fingers found the velvet lapel of the jacket, running up and down the material. His friend’s curious expression hid poorly behind the finger he bit on. “You know as well as I do Sergio is looking for an excuse to remove you from the plan. I’d think you’d at least make it worth it.” 

“Andrés,” he paused, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He wouldn’t look at him now, the playfulness gone as he spoke in lower tones. “I don’t make have a habit of sleeping with married men.” 

“ _Helsinki_ is married?” 

“You didn’t think the ritual was exclusive to you, did you? Cabrón,” Martín scolded, turning his head from side to side. The insufferable smirk he wore made a sour taste fizz in Andrés’ mouth. 

“It is a marvel you managed to follow one of my brother’s rules. Though, I should remind you he would look down on sharing personal stories,” he responded, pursing his lips together. 

His snicker made Andrés’ heart trip on its beat. He’d gone far too long without the tranquil peace between them, their friendship folded in a box on a shelf collecting dust. Now, he admired the laugh lines crinkled across Martín’s face. From this distance, he even spotted the few grey hairs poking out in luscious locks of hair, and the rough shadow covering Martín’s face in need of a shave. It was impossible to ignore each of Martín’s handsome features, or just how well he fit snugged in his jacket. 

“Where is your daring need to break every rule you’ve ever encountered, Andrés? Perhaps you need to unlock it again.” 

Andrés’ thoughts were elsewhere, and he had to blink to process Martín’s rebuttal. Sergio’s plans demanded less sentiment than his brother actually allowed, that much he knew. He never saw himself able to leave Martín behind in Firenze, but at a snap of Sergio’s fingers, he would’ve made his peace with their goodbye. They’d abided by the rules, though Denver and Moscú and Oslo and Helsinki enjoyed their familial moments. Standing here, Andrés recognized his own need to capitalized on the same privliges. Those who trusted him would continue to do so; Tokio’s grievances against him could be saddled with one more. 

Any distance between them was never meant to last. Under the blanket of stars twinkling in the night sky, all Andrés could focus on now was just how well _his_ jacket fit Martín. If the extra effort wasn’t for another man, well — there was nothing to keep him from admiring it. Twisted glee threatened to curl his toes as he repressed a ridiculous smile, and Andrés settled on pressing his hand next to Martín on the car before gravity tested its pull on him. 

Still, he pressed on to keep his word, even on the days his stomach curdled and his eyes twitched, trying to gain a glimpse of his friend. Even now, aflame with the same desire that always came and went. Vows to his brother and logic demanded keeping his word. Passion, however, wanted Martín. 

Challenge highlighted sparkling blue eyes, as though Andrés had made himself the next puzzle for Martín to solve. As smart as he was, his engineer outmatched him tenfold. His own lack of proper education only worked so far as an excuse — there had always been some tantalizing and addictive about Martín’s wit. And now? Now the air they breathed mixed, so damned close and huddled together as though it were already too late. Even as he tried to be imposing, Andrés’ gaze kept wandering sharp features, plump lips, _imaging_ the feel of it all. 

“I know more about Sergio than I do Helsinki,” Martín interrupted, chest puffed out as though he could read each of Andrés’ thoughts — like he was an open book. Perhaps he was. Ten years spent living like two halves of a whole would account for cracks in Andrés’ defenses. That’s all it was. He ripped his hand away, determined to stand tall instead of propped over his friend. Andrés’ fingers twitched in his pockets, something else begging to touch, to adorn, to possess the man standing in front of him. Instead, Andrés’ nails bit at the skin of his palms. He couldn’t break, he couldn’t bend. 

“I know more about _you_ than I do Helsinki,” Martín assured, less arrogant this time. 

“I should hope a little distance didn’t require a replacement.” 

The truth never came easily with Martín, but the trinkled compliment or occasional earnest honesty always earned Andrés a pale pink flush of the man’s cheeks. Like a moth called to the brightest lights, he inched closer, enough to feel the heat radiating off of Martín’s body. A distant waft of charcoal and burnt wood scratched the back of Andrés’ nose; it added to the musk of Martín’s natural scents, paralyzing with the final floral notes of cologne. If he let it, everything could wrap around him like a missing security blanket. 

“Have you always been this much of a possessive egomaniac?” 

His pride wanted to protest, but after over a decade of friendship, his objections would fall on deaf ears. Honesty was no match either; Martín’s ceaseless snark, the overconfident smirk, and his pride provoked Andrés past his limits. Instead, his hands finally listened to his brain’s commands, finding purchase in the lapels of the jacket Martín borrowed. Smooth velvet never felt so good against his skin. Encouraged by Martín’s surprised gasp, Andrés lunged forward, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. 

Martín melted against him, instantly cupping the back of Andrés’ head. With his encouragement, Andrés made quick work of deepening their kiss. His friend’s hand kneaded his hair as teeth carelessly knocked together. Andrés’ heart kept time with each shallow breath Martín released, his thoughts scrambling to process what was transpiring. The juvenile innocence of finally crossing this line sent shocks down Andrés’ spine, enough to curl his toes. Something giddy and new enchanted him, and his tongue chased the faint taste of strawberries off Martín’s lips. 

They were like waves, crashing on the shore and carrying away the shore with the tide. Every reason to avoid this moment washed away with every twist of Martín’s head, every new angle testing their limits. Warmth coursed in his veins, dragging Andrés further away from Toledo. All that remained was Martín’s large hands exploring his body; Martín grazing the tip of his tongue; Martín, his demanding lover. Andrés pressed harder, until his friend’s back curved against the car. 

Martín pressed down on his back before lazily holding his hips. He never relented in the kiss, greed swirling with desire. They claimed freedom as if transported back to the privacy of their monastery, where only they existed. Andrés tilted his head, moaning as heat pooled from their friction. He was no stranger to this raging feeling, but he’d never allowed it from another man. His women always followed the same build, enjoyable, but no longer exciting. Martín was strong in new places, and unexpectedly soft in others. Outside, limits dampened his study, but he couldn’t drag himself away. 

When Martín broke their kiss, their foreheads fell to rest together. Fingers pinched the back of Andrés’ neck, massaging the base of his skull. The flutter of eyelashes tickled his skin, twisting his lips into a pure smile. He bumped his nose against the thick round of Martín’s, basking in each touch. Only hours ago, an envious beast claimed him as he feared losing Martín to someone else: now, irrevocable evidence proved reciprocated want. 

Running the pad of his thumb under Martín’s jaw, Andrés painted another peck across the Argentinian’s Cupid’s bow. “I prefer breaking Sergio’s stupid rules with you.”

“You had months to tell me that,” he teased. “How do you plan on making up for lost time?” 

They’d effectively ruined their friendship, Andrés knew. Gone were the days of denying his affection, and he’d trade it all again and again. Now, they poorly attempted to keep their hands off each other as they walked back inside. Fingers brushed at first, but steps quickly stumbled when countered against clumsy kisses. Everything blurred, carnal thoughts controlling actions. Their bodies painted the front door. Then, they’d tripped through the front door, and his quick reflexes saved Martín from falling on his back. Scattered dishes prevented him from slamming Martín on the table, knowing their crashing would wake everyone in a matter of minutes. 

His lover’s arms circled his waist, to the point of carrying Andrés up the stairs. Dynamics with another man — with _Martín_ were magical. His hesitance was stopped in its tracks, overcome with his natural ability to adjust to his surroundings. If this man wanted dominance, Andrés could supply permission. He squirmed at first when backed into the wall, continuing to adjust. Martín slowed, ever in tune. What little he’d done right in his life reaped the award of his caring engineer. Or more likely, it was a testament to how much Martín... _loved_ him. 

Fingers spread between his, and Andrés allowed his arms to be extended above his head. Teeth pulled at his lip, seeking approval for Martín’s tongue to find his. If there were a better kisser waiting for him, Andrés didn’t want to ever find it. Connection had always been easy to find, but chemistry was another thing. Anyone could appease him for a few nights. What was unfolding with Martín would last more than a lifetime. 

“Show me how much you’ve always wanted me, Martín.” 

Hands circled his wrist, pinning them in their position. Andrés addiction to the man’s loyalty existed from day one; his friend had always known when he needed a shadow versus when he longed for an equal. Seldom were the days Martín took charge and Andrés followed, though. The Argentine’s teeth grazed below his ear, their hips grinding in circles. 

For as long as he could remember, Andrés had been searching for the movie magic feeling of two lovers finally coming together. Some, usually named Sergio, argued the concept was impossible. Still, the mission for his Holy Grail prevailed. He turned every corner, shifted through every sea, and left nothing to chance. With Martín’s strokes adoring every available patch of skin, he knew he’d tried too hard. It didn’t have to be so complicated. Distance from this intelligent, provocative man removed the fog, bringing them together. 

The hallway wouldn’t do. He tugged his right hand free, curling his index finger for Martín to follow his lead. They were only a few doors away from his room, the perfect place to continue their evening. Each step moved together, him mindful of Martín’s every step backwards. Andrés wouldn’t let him down now. 

His fingers trailed the rounded curve of Martín’s jaw, taking his time to admire the soft expense of skin. Light stubble rubbed against his touch, itching but not unpleasant as his lip curled at the new sensation. His pointer and middle finger hooked under Martín’s chin, compelling him forward. His love’s cerulean eyes glossed over, fixated on Andrés’ mouth as though he already anticipated the next kiss to immediately fall on his lips. That wouldn’t do. Their lives had pulled this moment away from them for far too long, and Andrés had no intention to rush. Instead of catering to expectation, his free hand found a home flat against Martín’s chest. He guided him back, applying just enough force to break the younger man from his trance. Hands entangled in the smooth belt of his robe, pulling Andrés with him as they blindly stumbled through the mansion. Dawn was breaking through the vast window, his heart skipping random beats at the threat of being caught. 

Adrenaline commanded his actions as they tiptoed past Sergio’s bedroom; his brother wasn’t allowed to take this man away or remind him of his convictions. The usual squeak of the floorboards proved an ally, remaining silent as they made their way by undetected. In celebration, he fumbled with the second button of Martín’s shirt. He struggled, somehow inexperienced with popping it open. A smug smile split across the other man’s face, and pressed into the side of Andrés’ face. The fire spreading in his chest spoke of the innocence between them, far more reckless than the dalliance between Tokio and Rio. Their moment was uninterrupted, unanticipated — so perfectly private and _theirs_ to delight in, Andrés could’ve let the feeling alone consume him. 

The _thud_ of Martín’s back against his bedroom door stopped their movements, and he chuckled. The pause finally allowed Andrés to pull the button through, a better view of the curled, dark hairs on the center of Martín’s chest his reward. Art demanded appreciation of the human body, in all of its forms. He never shied away from the elegance of any painting, of the skills required to the chisel _David of Michelangelo,_ but his face pooled with heat as he admired the man before him. He had seen this all before, between days at the beach or afternoons spent visiting the best tailors. However, he never imagined the ability to run his finger down Martín’s sternum as he did now. His nail dragged down the center, slow and careful. The enticing sigh escaping those beautiful lips further encouraged the motion. They froze against the door, and propriety be damned. The band could find them knotted together for all he cared — nothing would rip him away from Martín now. 

“ _Andrés,”_ came the whisper from _his_ amante, tickling the skin under his earlobe. His shoulders twisted, squirming with the heat of his name radiated off Martín’s tongue. None of his wives ever held such power over him, but this siren’s call snapped his attention back to loving looking him in the eye. Whatever was meant to come next drowned in the back of his beloved’s throat as Andrés took his next kiss. 

Unlike the surprise of the first, or the passion of the second, the third they shared started slow. Martín’s large hands curled around his hips, holding him steady. It was only then he noticed the slight buckle of his knees, his body betraying every bolt of electricity laying claim to him. His arms slid up Martín’s chest until his hands cupped the sides of his face. The stubble against his open palms reminded him of sand, coarse and warm against his sensitive skin.

He smiled against Martín’s cheek, his thumb stroking the curved bone hidden under delicate skin. He drew a sharp, shallow breath — his rattled thoughts halting their progress. For only the second time in his life, he was the more inexperienced party. Each touch offered a promise of something new to be learned. His stomach twisted because this meant more than all the times before it. Ever alert to his hesitance, Martín paused his own movements, loosening his hold. At the loss of Martín’s confident touches, he blinked until his vision allowed the man back into focus. His shoulders dropped, fixated instead on the hand squeezing his. 

‘ _Yes, we could stop here.’_ Many others would be content with their first embraces. Except, he’d never measured himself among the many. Andrés knew he was too selfish to let Martín go when they’d made it this far. At last, he shook his head; after all, adaptability was one of his strongest characteristics. He captured Martín’s mouth back against his, cherishing the surprised sigh. He would not let the newness ruin the morning. This was Martín: there were no expectations, no demands. No matter what happened, disappointment wouldn’t follow their first time. He smirked, their mouths crashing together as teeth knocked, speed picked up once more. 

The tug of his lip between Martín’s teeth expelled his concern, a groan freely given as his hands tugged at his lover’s hair. They moved in sync, clicking together like the pieces of a puzzle. The picture of his life never fit anyone else, ideals clashing until they went their separate ways. The same was never true of Martín. Their roads never diverged for long, and as his lover’s arms circled his waist he finally knew why. In many ways, he’d always known they were destined for this moment. 

Every kiss, every touch silently communicated his intention: he wasn’t backing away from this moment. Yes, it would take them time to unravel all of his defenses. The erratic rhythm of his heart needed time to adjust to each new phenomenon before his sweaty, shaky hands ended this too soon. But above all else, he trusted Martín. His friend had spent the same ten years waiting, his yearning and his affection always available for Andrés to read. And now? _Now_ he melted against Andrés’ caresses, ready and willing to accept what he was offered, while testing his limits with patience and love. 

_“_ Andrés. _Andrés_ ,” Martín whispered again, eyes fluttered half open. His hand skirted down Andrés’ spine, making him arch against his chest with every calculated stroke. His forehead nuzzled in the groove between the man’s neck and shoulder, as his lips pressed a phantom peck just below Martín’s jaw. 

“Yes?” He hummed after another brush of his lips colored Martín’s neck. 

One hand cupped the back of Andrés’ head, cradling him in place. Fingers grazed the base of his skull, wrapped around his thin strands of hair. It was easy to consider pulling Martín inside his room, to find the middle of his bed and simply hold each other while the sun rose for the outside world. He might have suggested it, if not for the luscious smell of Martín’s cologne caught in the back of his throat. No. Tonight he would not opt for anything less than all of his engineer’s devotion, freely given and equally returned. 

He never knew how much he’d miss Martín’s hands secured around his hips until the other left, searching the door for the brass knob. His words still failed him, but the intent wasn’t hard to read. As much as he didn’t care who found them, his bedroom offered security from being ripped apart. The air around them still felt more like a dream, and any tap on the shoulder might reveal it was. 

The rush of the door opening made them stumble once again, Andrés’ reflexes quick to catch his partner around his wrist. Their momentum paused just long enough to lock the door behind them, and turn on the pale, yellow light. Even in such harsh lighting, Martín was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Andrés’ hands combed back a few unruly hairs scattered across his forehead, peppering his chin, the round of his nose, just under his ear, and finally, those luscious lips. 

With all the skill of an experienced thief, Martín’s nimble fingers undid the belt of his robe. It slithered to the floor, the material once covering Andrés’ chest now hanging open at his sides. The drumming inside his chest slowed, deep and steady. The cold breeze in his room left little bumps spreading across the newly exposed skin, only to be immediately soothed by an attentive hand gliding over his skin. Wildfire spread from each of Martín’s fingertips until his hand coiled around the side of his neck. This time, it was the other man’s turn to press a loving kiss to the corner of his mouth unhurried. 

Martín’s teeth skimmed his neck and Andrés panted, twisting his head to guide the other man’s mouth. He should have anticipated the way Martín ignored the silent plea, choosing instead to gingerly glide his lips just under Andrés’ collarbone. The chaste teasing wasn’t enough, not when his lover had the advantage of his clothes still hindering Andrés’ options. The flick of Martín’s tongue followed, releasing a desperate whimper; his hands clung to Martín’s shoulders, breathing harder as the man dragged slower. His memorizing touches threatened to undo Andrés before he had the chance to reciprocate. 

_‘May Martín be damned.’_

Andrés was subdued with each trick of the talented Argentinian’s mouth. Ten years spent waiting left insatiable craving growling from the pit of his stomach. Andrés wanted him. He longed for him, for more, so, so bad. Still, Andrés only remained locked in his lover’s embrace, his own hands detaching from their tight hold. Martín’s breath on his skin burned next, drawing another pleased groan in response. Andrés’ eyelashes fluttered, unprepared to handle the ceaseless teasing. Despite his need, he remained unable to concentrate long enough on his next move to claim the upper hand. His fingers clawed at the sleeves of Martín’s shirt, still restricted. His lips were too dry, throat too parched to be used. A proud smirk scorched Andrés’ neck, taunting and testing. Martín knew the depth of his hold, the required mercy needed to free Andrés from resigning to beg. 

His heart banged, impatience winning out when Martín only nuzzled his nose against the bobble of his throat. 

There was only one thing left to do. 

Martín’s knees buckled when Andrés pounced, pushing them over the edge of the bed. He mimicked his beloved’s recent touches, intent on giving and receiving in equal measure. Flat palms pressed down on his back, refusing an inch of distance to come between them. Andrés’ feet planted firmly on the ground, determined to avoid sliding onto his ass. It wasn’t the best position, but the dominance over Martín was too exhilarating for now. 

The first kiss whisked Andrés’ breath away with it. He had taken many to his bed, but nothing paralleled the satisfaction of finally allowing Martín here. Nails scratched his back as Andrés’ teeth found the nape of Martín’s neck. This man deserved the loving strokes of a master painter, and Andrés was happy to oblige. Marking his beloved’s neck required precision though, any bruises needing to be covered from wandering eyes at breakfast. They would not suspect him responsible, which left nothing to be gained by being sloppy. 

Concentrated, each bite came slower than the next, making his lover squirm. Martín cracked, each sinful plea unraveling a new verse of poetry. Pausing, Andrés observed it all — from the exasperated breaths parting trembling lips to the strong body quivering at his caresses. Something dark and exhilarating shivered down his spine, possessive and powerful. The next obstacle required discarding his shirt; four buttons remained, each like the wrapping on top of an awaiting present. Every response he drew from Martín intensified as he gained access to more skin — without the thin material barring him access, the potential for more was limitless. This angle robbed him of a better view, too much effort still required to keep him from sliding onto the floor. He ran his tongue along his own bottom lip, considering the options available to him. Intertwining their hands, Andrés encouraged him further onto the bed; while Martín scrambled to push himself into a better position. 

They found the center of his bed, successful in utilizing the available space. His legs straddled on either side of Martín’s waist, keeping him propped over his lover. His weight pinned the other man to the bed, not that he needed the assistance; Martín couldn’t be coaxed from his bed, even if Andrés allowed it. He pressed his palms against Martín’s chest, crumbling the shirt in his hands as Andrés tugged it loose from under the waist of dark jeans. His own self-satisfied smirk grew as his partner’s eyes rolled in the back of his head, little whispers of _his_ name off Martín’s tongue encouraging his actions. Each caught the breath in Andrés’ throat, aching with want for the man under him. 

A line of kisses trailed the man’s sternum, until the next button blocked his path. Peering up at his friend, his teeth wrapped around the little clasp. Years spent showing off his ability to tie a cherry stem with his tongue worked to his benefit, the button sliding out of place in time with groans of, “ _oh God._ ” 

“You’re going to wake everyone,” he whispered, twirling his tongue down Martín’s chest, working towards the next button. 

“You wanted it...to be worth it…” Martín huffed, his head arched against the mattress. He twisted from side to side, breaking the steady lines Andrés licked. Rough hands pulled at his hair, every display of Martín’s unrestrained want a reminder. No one had ever wished for him like this before. In a way, it made his own denial worth every agonizing time he pulled away before they crossed any lines. 

“And you are,” Andrés crooned, the pad of his thumb gliding over Martín’s sweaty upper lip. The movement hushed him, the only sounds left in the room their heavy breathing. It would take all of his brother’s resources to remove Martín from the heist. He would follow if Martín left, too addicted to claiming each smooth patch of skin for his own. 

Andrés teeth sunk into the tight skin just under his clavicle, freeing the delightful _yelp_ . His back seared as nails hooked into his shoulder blades, Martín bucking up against him. Andrés soothed the bite with a twirl of his tongue, arrogance occupying his thoughts. Martín’s whimper echoed around the room, and carried out through the crack under his door. _‘Let them hear. Let them witness my affect over you. Let them know nothing measures up to this.’_ For in the end, nothing else really did. All the worthless money they printed in the Mint couldn’t bring the joy Martín did. 

His hands snapped the last two buttons open, and Martín sat up just enough for Andrés to discard the shirt on the floor. He stretched his arms out, planked over his lover’s head. Martín traced down his ribs, sparking new flames where the cold draft of his room tried to mark new bumps. They followed the v-line of his abs, stopping before Martín reached the hem of his boxers. His fingers tiptoed the line, but didn’t try to remove them. So many boundaries had already been crossed between them, but fully undressing required different vulnerability. Even if they decided to stop, being naked with Martín changed everything. 

Instead, Andrés lowered onto his chest, pinning his lover’s wrists to his sides. His tongue dipped into Martín’s mouth, imploring until he felt the twist of the other man’s gliding around his. This new closeness appeased some of Andrés’ worries; after all, there was no need to rush. The first time required patience. They’d combat their exhaustion with a fresh pot of coffee, and if anyone asked too many questions — _well,_ his good graces for the rest of the band didn’t include keeping their secrets. 

He broke free of their kiss, mumbling Martín’s name so quietly, so tenderly it should’ve shattered the illusion. When sea-blue eyes peeked behind half-closed eyelids, Andrés sighed content. His lip tugged up, enamored. Even a creative mind like his own couldn’t conjure this fantasy. 

After a moment, he slid off Martín’s chest to sit next to him. A new canvas of unmarked skin awaited him as Andrés guided Martín onto his stomach, incentive enough to progress. A hand cupped his cheek, and the charming gap between Martín’s teeth appeared on display with this half-smile. Butterflies flapped in his stomach, with all the rush of his inexperience. This time, it didn’t threaten to unravel him so easily. The man was his alone, and Andrés would have every part of him. His cuspid sunk into his bottom lip, ready to find new purchase. 

Before he could straddle Martín again, a hand caught his wrist. His friend began to roll to his side, refusing to look at him for the first time tonight. Unlike the delectable, unsteady breaths Martín sighed at his touch, these were hesitant and uncertain. Andrés twisted his hand free, circling Martín’s wrist instead. He stroked the younger man’s pulse point, trying to coax away the sudden change. 

“Martín?” 

“You don’t have to...we don’t have to,” he started slowly. A stone sunk in Andrés’ stomach, needing nothing more to know what his lover meant. After parading four wives around and never allowing Martín to catch him staring back, of course he’d think this was less that it was. 

“I _want_ to,” Andrés inisted, lying next to him on the bed. Their foreheads pressed together, his hand flat against the back of Martín’s head. It wouldn’t be so easy to dismiss everything between them this time, Andrés refused to allow it. 

He scoffed, “it’s easy to _think_ that when we’ve been...kissing for the past hour. You’re aroused and I’m here, and then it’ll be over.” 

“ _No._ ” He graced the curve of Martín’s shoulder with two fingers, drawing patterns. This was more than a cheap thrill or momentary satisfaction. Andrés denied himself the love of this man for far too long, and desire demanded incessant gratification. Now, he knew what soft, full lips felt like burning his skin; now, joy took the sound of Martín’s sighs when Andrés touched him. This was a permanent high. 

“Andrés—”

His mouth followed the stroke, drowning the sounds of Martín’s fears. Words were weak, and Andrés devoted his life to action. Mindful of his weight, he moved to rest on top of Martín’s back, enjoying the unexpected sigh as his lover melted further into the mattress. His kiss found the shell of Martín’s ear, mumbling, “I want _you._ ”

Andrés heard his heart in his ears, the price of his vulnerability one he was finally willing to pay. It was worth it when Martín turned his head, the fear gone from his eyes. The sloppy, sincere kiss shot through his veins, the sound of their moans blending in poetic unison. His fingers crept down the man’s spine followed quickly by his lips — the rise and fall of Martín’s chest encouraging each praise. Again, Andrés raised off him, wetting his lips as his hands slid around Martín’s waist. 

The click of the belt buckle was euphoric in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Andrés caught his breath as he slid it through every loop, each drawing them closer to the final barriers removed. The leather slithered through his enclosed palm to the floor, the anticipation overwhelming. Andrés was confident in his skills. He knew how to bless each of his former lovers with the grace of every candenced movement, how to bring them to the brink until they screamed his name, and how to drag out every last moment. He was longer afraid of doing the same, and so much more, with Martín. 

Gripping Martín’s hips, he rolled away tight jeans. He admired tan legs covered with curls of dark hairs, lean muscles from light training, and the smooth round of his ass. Greed curdled in Andrés’s stomach, breathing heavier as he removed his own final layer. After all this time, they were now exposed to one another — it was a new level of vulnerability he’d never allowed before, but now as he admired Martín’s naked body, Andrés couldn’t remember why he’d denied himself for so long. 

“Mi vida,” he started, inching closer to place dotted kisses around the curve of Martín’s shoulder once more, “Quiero hacerte el amor.” 

“ _Please._ ” 

Paradise never seemed possible from just one word until their mutual desire collided with Martín’s consent. For all the words in Andrés’ diverse vocabulary, each failed him now. Instead, his teeth sunk in the place between his lover’s shoulders, soothing the skin with flicks of his tongue. “Andrés, _please,_ ” Martín repeated, breathing so beautifully labored already. 

He wanted to feel Martín coursing through his veins, to come together as two wholes to create something spectacular. For as much pleasure he desired, Andrés wanted nothing more than to lose himself in each and every last one of Martín’s moans, in every display the man he loved offered in response. Andrés longed to kiss Martín everywhere, to fuck him until he begged for more — to tease and adore, and simply love in all the ways he should’ve long along. 

In loving Martín, Andrés knew he’d at long last be complete.

Another bite met the small of Martín’s back, and he raised onto his knees and elbows. Positioned, he slid with ease, nails scratching at Martín’s delicate skin. The foreign feeling quickly passed, favoring ecstasy as Martín’s grunt reached Andrés’ ears. They moved together, like two beats of the same drum. 

He smirked when Martín gripped the bedsheets, already so easy to overwhelm. The addictive power he held over Martín spoke to his possessive tendencies, leaving Andrés intoxicated. Andrés twisted his lover’s hips, taking his time to explore every new sensitive movement. Discovery paired well with Martín’s guidance, excited sparks electrifying each pulsating nerve. 

His confidence grew with each sound he ripped from his lover, drawing them closer together. Sex had always been an regular part of establishing a new relationship, one he always excelled at. It always grew to be habitual when the initial thrill of someone new dulled. Performative displays replaced sincere ones, and it was never long before his relationships ended. Now, something fundamental changed. Pride and joy mixed, the potent cocktail a result of Martín’s nods of approval or his own pleasure. 

“ _Fuck Martín,”_ Andrés grunted in turn, rolling the tip of his tongue over his lip. 

“You don’t have to be so gentle. You won’t break me.” 

Andrés leaned forward, hands steadied on the headboard. The wood knocked against the weak wall, payback for the hours their companions had kept him awake. Sergio might break through their door any moment, but Andrés still didn’t give a damn about the noise. Their legs intertwined as Andrés adjusted his position, pounding. Martín’ head rolled, gripping the pillow between his teeth as Andrés slammed again, rough. The bed creaked with their movements, drowning quickly in muffled pleas of, “ _Andrés, more. Andrés, yes. Andrés, Andrés!”_

Every slip of his name off Martín’s tongue tightened the chains around Andrés’ heart, bewitching him. If belonging to this man was the price to continue things after tonight, Andrés wanted to rip himself apart on the altar. Exasperated breaths burnt his lungs, his mouth dried from his own content cries. 

“Martín,” he whined, head tilted back. 

The springs of the bed moved with them, as Andrés fingers coaxed themselves in the spaces between Martín’s. He rested his weight on his lover’s back, nudging with his nose to direct Martín’s head towards the side. Their tongues met, moving around and against each other as Martín bucked against him. Andrés paused, enjoying the way his engineer squirmed as he tried to adjust to the slowed pace. “Damn you,” Martín breathed against his lips, before biting and soothing the sensitive skin. 

“Damn me? I’m only,” he paused, pumping only once despite the look of chagrin it earned him, “taking my time with you.” 

“You’re _trying_ to _torture_ me,” and though Martín grumbled, his eyes rolled back in his head as Andrés kissed the nape of his neck. He scratched with his teeth, laughing with delight as Martín twitched, fingernails desperately clawed at his bed sheets. Andrés wondered if the cheap cotton fabric would maintain the impressions. “ _Fuck me.”_

“I oblige, mi amor.” 

His hands circled Martín’s waist, running his fingers around the small round of his stomach. Just as he thrust again, his thumb rounded the tip of his target. The _yelp_ followed by the sound of Martín’s gritted teeth, so wonderfully determined to keep their sleeping neighbors from discovering only made Andrés more determined. The evidence of his affect over Martín shattered any need to keep quiet. All that mattered was making love to him in a way even the Gods of old would’ve been incapable of. He pulled back with new determination and devotion; the sounds of his lover alone would goad him, given enough time to properly worship Martín. 

He gripped tighter, running his hand down the full length. The unexpected whimper rippled the room like a stone thrown on the sea, and Martín’s teeth gnawed at the pillow. Andrés thumb twirled the tip, drawing another delectable sigh from his man. “I’m not sure I can hear you,” he tsked, inching his fingers slower in random patterns. 

“You’re too proud of yourself.” 

“Am I? I have _you_ moaning my name, waiting for me to have you any way I see fit. My finest work yet, one might say.” 

Andrés’ other hand coaxed the blotchy, wet skin of Martín’s back, still bearing the workings of his mouth. Clear beads of sweat damped Martín’s mopped brown hair; and Andrés knew his own was in a state of disarray. Grey sheets were splayed, coming up off the corners of the mattress, evidence of the friction. And beautiful Martín stood amongst the rest, like a bright beacon painted in his bed. Vivid colors always made his favorite pieces of art, and Andrés cherished this masterpiece more than all the rest. 

He was so, _so_ close now, and judging by the way Martín’s face burrowed in his pillow, so was he. His hand loosened around Martín, dragging up his lover’s side until Andrés found his hips once more. Titled up from the bed, Martín’s position allowed Andrés to grind once again. Movements blurred as his heart accelerated, no longer able to keep his eyes opened. His neck arched back as Martín released one jagged, broken breath after the next — until finally, his name faintly fell from his lover’s lips. 

“ _Martín,_ ” was the only worthy response, spoken with all the reverence and love of the holiest prayer. 

Slowly, Andrés drew to a halt. His engineer laid splayed on his bed, energy spent on their glorious evening. Overcome, his back hit the bed next to Martín, panting. 

Martín’s long eyelashes fluttered, still lost to the high and Andrés closed his eyes against the view. His chest rose and fell with every heavy breath, attempting to restore his strength. Andrés listened to the melodious sounds coming from the man next to him, a product of his own design. His hand reached out, looking for the soft body lying next to him. When he found nothing, Andrés’ eyes popped open, propping himself up on his elbow. Cold distance returned between them, Martín’s body nearly falling from the edge of his bed. 

“Where are you going?” 

“It’s over? I thought…” Martín started, drifting off in an almost state of shame. Andrés bit his lip, fighting his own instinct to let a sting of rejection restructure their night. 

“Martín,” he replied, approaching him gently. “I will not force you to sleep in my bed, but I am not kicking you out.” 

“I’m not one of your women. We had a good night, there doesn’t need to be,” Martín paused, waving his hand, “anything tender about it.” 

Andrés pulled one of his lover’s hands to his lips, gently on placing another kiss along his knuckles. “Yes, there does. I _adore_ you. I will say it again, and again, until you believe how fervently I want all of you.” 

When no response came, Andrés’ arm slowly found Martín’s waist. The unsteady frown pinching handsome features relaxed, and the drumming of Martín’s pulse began to slow. Andrés snatched Martín further into his arms, tucking his chin on his brilliant man’s head. They tangled together, as though anything less would rip them apart. Uneasy breaths melted away, replaced by Martín’s deep inhales. 

“I want you too.” 

“Then I am yours.” 

Kicking the heavier blanket to the floor, already scorching from their combined heat, Andrés then pressed a goodnight kiss to Martín’s temple. His lover’s fingers hand spread through the hair on his chest, twisting and playing until sleep had claimed him. Their love bloomed until it was worth breaking open to expose the most precious pearl, and this was only their beginning. 

—— 

Delayed breakfast — courtesy of Nairobi’s unfortunate ‘headache’ — allowed Andrés to laze the morning away drawing golden lines on Martín’s back with his fountain pen. He layered swirls and lines with each mark left by his teeth or nails, completing the image he’d started last night. His lover said nothing as Andrés drew, lost somewhere between an early nap and savoring the last of their privacy before they’d play strangers again. Silently, they both knew it wouldn’t be long before they found another bed, or a spot in the vineyard, or even the back of the Ford if they must. This was love, and they were committed to the blazing fire. 

“Buenos días, Profesor,” Andrés said, last to his seat at the long table. He didn’t steal a look at Martín, no matter how much his brain demanded it. Fully clothed, he nor anyone else were able to see the masterpiece left behind, though Andrés wanted to pin it on display. It would lighten up the lifeless place they called home, even if he could already hear his lover’s complaints. 

He reached for the kettle and a ceramic cup, smiling at his little brother as he poured. Steel paws seemed to crush his brother’s chest as Sergio choked on his own sip of tea. Nairobi patted his back, coaxing him through the sudden fit. When he’d wiped his mouth, Sergio’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Andrés over the rim of his glasses. Ever astute, his little brother tried to silently reveal what he’d just discovered. Andrés curled his hand around the handle of his cup, lifting it for a sip. He didn’t break eye contact with the man in front of him as he smirked behind the cup. With one unapologetic shake of his head, he ended the dispute before it could begin. 

No force on earth could remove Martín from him now. 


End file.
